


Wedding Plans

by wheel_pen



Series: Lucy [15]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are tough decisions to be made about cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Plans

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Lucy, my original character, is Clark’s cousin on the Kent side. Although human she may have some strange psychic powers and definitely has some issues in her past. She’s having a tough time with her mom and goes to live with Jonathan and Martha for a while. She and Lex form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. In my world, Lex eventually becomes President. And his staff is from The West Wing. 
> 
> 3\. I started writing this series during the third season of Smallville, so it diverges from canon then or earlier.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.
> 
> Redux of the scene where Lex is planning his wedding to Helen. (“Accelerate,” 2x21)

            Lex narrowed his eyes and faced down the enemy before him. _You’ve been in tougher situations than this,_ he reminded himself, although at the moment such situations didn’t spring to mind. There were... a _lot_ of these current foes, certainly. And only one of him. But he could take them. Though they might have a considerable allotment of deception and distraction on their side, he was a Luthor, by G-d, and he wasn’t going to crumble this easily.

            And neither, with their high butter content, were his opponents.

            “Mr. Luthor?” prodded the wedding planner, clutching her clipboard to her pale pink suit. Her smile was as frosted as her hair as she stared at her employer staring at the row upon row of sample cakes spread out on his dining room table. The man hadn’t moved in perhaps ten minutes.

            Lex’s expression was grim as he surveyed the ranks of his adversaries. He had been shielded from knowledge of such vile entities for most of his life, but now their names and habits were well known to him: Traditional Spice with Praline Buttercream (the most conservative, yet edible member of the Spice Girls); Chocolate-Mocha Mousse (lightly spiked with Kahlua, as Lex dearly wanted to be right now); Almond Chiffon with Vanilla Cream (fresh raspberries or strawberries available only in season, which would be over by the time Lex finally picked something); Biscuit de Savoie (filled with kiwi and passion fruit—was that even _allowed_?); Cappuccino Bavarian, Hazelnut Praline Torte, Chocolate Orange Truffle, Apricot Spice, Double Chocolate Almond Citron—dear _G-d_ , there was no escaping them!

            “Mr. Luthor?” Ms. Howard repeated, actually becoming concerned with his stillness and the intensity with which he regarded the desserts. “Mr. Luthor, I would have thought a man like you would be used to making quick decisions.”

            Hearing the snide tone in the woman’s voice Lex finally turned his gaze from the sugary antagonists on the table to the sugary antagonist standing beside him. “I am,” he told her, in the steely voice reserved for loathsome business rivals. The woman paled visibly. “That’s why I made the quick decision to put Lucy in charge of the wedding arrangements.” Lex refocused on the icing-frilled rounds of sticky sweetness and clogging cream, certain that some of them had changed places.

            “Well, Miss Kent”—Ms. Howard was fortunately not quite bold enough to call her client’s fiancée by her given name—“is not here right now, and we have only _two weeks_ until the wedding!”

            Grace under fire—Lex had always been good at that. Outside influences were pressuring him, but he rolled that distraction off his shoulders and concentrated on the task at hand. Somewhere on this table—because even Lex’s agile, oft-warped mind could not cope with the idea that there were yet _more_ flavors of wedding cakes in the world—was _the_ cake, the one that would not make him gag (too much) when he took a bite, the one that would not make Lucy sob (too hard) when she saw what he’d chosen, the one that would not poison their guests (most of them, anyway) with lethal doses of glucose and triglycerides.

            Speaking of poisoning the guests... “Dad,” Lex called to the visitor who had just entered the penthouse, sounding perhaps a touch too eager. “Come and try some cake.”

            Lionel Luthor raised an eyebrow skeptically as he took in the scene of his son glaring rays of death down upon a table full of helpless confections while an increasingly distressed matron of the festivities hovered beside him. The tailor, the seamstress, the florist, the music coordinator, and another handful of assistants and staff had either given up hovering themselves or knew better than to start it at all, and had merely arranged themselves around the room to await their employer’s attention.

            “And just where is your lovely child-bride, Lex?” Lionel asked, his voice cheerfully snide, if that were possible. “Have you revoked your overly-generous offer to place this auspicious event in her... bourgeoise little hands?”

            Lex ignored his jibes. The Chocolate Caramel Dream and the Lemon Summer Berry had, he was positive, moved closer to the edge of the table, the better to escape and spread their madness to the rest of the world. “She has an exam,” he explained distractedly. “Try... _that_ one,” Lex decided, pointing accusingly at a lump of pink cake armored in ivory buttercream frosting. Surely _that_ one, above all, was deadly.

            The slightly unstable glint in his son’s eyes convinced Lionel to humor him, at least for the moment, and he picked up the pre-cut slice of cake and sterling silver fork with slow, steady movements. Carefully he broke off the tip of the slice, slightly unnerved by the way Lex watched him so intently, and placed it in his mouth. For a moment, all Lionel tasted was the smooth tang of the cream cheese filling, then the crisp sweetness of the stiff icing melted across his tongue—followed swiftly by the overpowering stench and flavor of the almond liquor the cake itself had been soaked in. His tongue burned and his eyes watered as, momentarily, he forgot how to breathe. A glass of water appeared in the hand of a pretty blond, and Lionel quickly exchanged it for the odious concoction on the porcelain plate.

            “No, then?” Lex asked, his demeanor one of a scientist surveying the results of feeding an experimental food supplement to his least-favorite lab rat.

            “No,” Lionel gasped firmly, taking another hearty sip of water to wash the remains of the toxin from his palate. Ms. Howard rolled her eyes heavenward, perhaps pleading for divine intervention in the cake-choosing department.

            As they say, be careful what you wish for. At that moment Lex’s cell phone rang and he answered it gratefully, turning away from the assembled employees and family. “What?”

            “ _Hi, it’s me!_ ”

            “Where are you?”

            “ _Is_ _everything okay, Lex? You sound kind of frantic_.”

            “There’s...” Lex could hardly bring himself to describe the horror, and he wandered towards the study, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s _cake_ here, acres of it, all covered in hand-rolled chocolate leaves and fondant beads and-and _pastillage_! Why do I even know what _pastillage_ _is_?”

            He could hear Lucy’s smile through the phone. “ _Well, I’m on my way home right now, baby. We’re just passing that big tall building with the shiny blue windows and the fountain._ ”

            “The Amberco Building?”

            “ _Um... maybe. So, cake, huh?_ ”

            Lex dropped into the leather chair in the study. “Uh-huh. I tried feeding the worst-looking one to my father—Red Almond Velvet Butter Cream Torte Mousse... Surprise,” he struggled, as Lucy giggled heartlessly. “But he seems to have survived.”

            “ _Well, I didn’t even know they_ made _cupcakes in all those flavors_ ,” she replied, continually amazed by the excessive luxuries money could buy.

            Lex frowned. “Cupcakes?”

            “ _Yeah, I told Ms. Howard I just wanted yellow cupcakes with chocolate icing_ ,” Lucy continued. “ _She didn’t seem to like that idea. Said she’d bring by a bunch of flavors for me to ‘consider’_.”

            The conspiracy was suddenly becoming clear to Lex. “You want yellow cupcakes with chocolate icing?” he asked by way of confirmation, already rising from his chair.

            Lucy sounded a little defensive. “ _You said I could pick what I wanted_...”

            “Absolutely, sweetheart.” Lex re-entered the dining room, where Lionel was now regarding the multitude of desserts with cool disdain. He was sure there were more on the table than there had been when he left. “You can have whatever you want. Including yellow cupcakes with chocolate icing.” He shot Ms. Howard an icy glare and the wedding planner shrank back.

            “ _Betty Crocker makes a really good recipe_ ,” Lucy went on pleasantly.

            “Betty Crocker?” Lex somehow managed to keep his tone light and conversational despite the murderous expression on his face. “Well, of course, darling, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

            “ _Um, Lex?_ ” Lucy could tell from the unusual endearments that something was going on at the other end of the line. “ _Everything okay?_ ”

            “Oh, of course, angel, everything’s fine,” Lex assured her. “In fact, Ms. Howard has _just_ offered to bake your yellow cupcakes with chocolate icing herself.” The wedding planner started to open her mouth in protest but shut it when Lex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure she’ll do an _excellent_ job. Get out,” he mouthed silently to the older woman, who fled the penthouse with a fraction of the dignity with which she had entered. Lionel restrained an evil chuckle, but only barely. Lex’s blue-grey beams of judgment turned themselves onto the suddenly-nervous florist seated on the ottoman. “Now let’s talk again about the flowers you wanted...”


End file.
